


Hair Loss Curse (July, 2018)

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: Wincest Writing Challenge [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hair Loss, M/M, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: My partner was @transsammywinchester





	Hair Loss Curse (July, 2018)

Has Dean mentioned lately that he friggin’ hates witches? Because he does.

Thankfully the latest witch in question is dead. One special bullet to the brain. Unfortunately, not before she hit Sam with some kind of mojo. He seems okay- breathing, standing, talking, the whole nine- and in Dean’s experience spells that don’t do immediate damage tend to die with the caster, but he’s going to keep a close eye on Sam for at least the next twenty-four hours. Better safe than sorry.

“You’re sure you feel fine?” Dean asks again, glancing across the Impala as Sam settles in.

“I feel absolutely fine,” Sam tells him. “Not so much as a headache.”

“We should still try and figure out what she hit you with,” Dean insists. “Just in case it’s delayed.”

“I’ll look at some spell books when we get to the bunker. Can we please just get outta here? I’m not going to break if you turn on the car.”

Dean pokes his tongue out just to see Sam’s eye roll, but turns the car on.

* * *

It’s a long drive and they don’t get back to the bunker until late. Sam immediately pulls some books out, quickly forming an impressive stack on the table. Dean really wants to go to bed, but his need to make sure Sam is okay overrides the need for sleep and almost everything else. Always has and always will.

Sam focuses on spells with a delayed result, specifically curses. Dean begins a more general sweep, bookmarking anything that catches his eye so Sam can take a closer look.

“Do you remember any of the words she used?” Dean asks, marking another possibility.

“Latin for sure,” Sam replies, closing his eyes to think about the moment when he was hit with the spell. “I think I would recognize the words if I read them.”

“Could you write them down? That would give me a better idea of what to look for.”

“I can try.”

Sam fetches a notepad and writes a few words. “I remember these for sure,” he says. “So look for spells that use these words when casting.”

They continue working until Sam’s eyelids start to droop. Dean is more than happy to bundle him into their bed, promising to keep looking just a little longer. He keeps his promise until he knows he can’t continue without falling asleep sitting up. Only then does he join Sam, tucking up against his brother’s side.

* * *

Sam wakes up with Dean nuzzled into his chest- definitely one of his favorite ways to start the day. He cranes his neck to press a kiss to the top of Dean’s head before carefully slipping out of bed. He starts to pull his pillow down to tuck it under Dean’s head but stops.

“What the…?”

On the pillow, where his head rested not seconds before, is what looks like… hair?

His heart sinks to his stomach, but he steels himself, frowning as his slender fingers pick it up. Yeah, that’s definitely his hair and it’s a much larger clump than he’s ever seen.

“Shit,” he gasps, hurrying over to the mirror by the door. He flicks on the light, dropping the hair into the sink and ignoring Dean’s sleepy protests behind him. Sam leans his hips against the sink, porcelain cool even through his pajama pants, and turns his head back and forth. He feels the spot before he sees it, on the side of his head and thankfully well hidden. It’s not a bald patch, but he can tell the clump is missing. When he pulls his hand away, more hair goes with it. Sam stares in horror at the hair on his hands. He repeats the action and Dean sees the utter terror on his brother’s face in the mirror.

“Sam?” Dean mumbles, bare feet quiet on the floor. “What’s wrong?”

It takes Sam a minute to find the words around the sudden need to vomit. Tears fill his eyes and he has to swallow them down before he can meet his brother’s sleepy eyes in the mirror. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a choked whisper.

“My hair is falling out.”

* * *

Sam didn’t bother to even get dressed or eat before diving back into research. Dean wants to say it’s just hair, but something in Sam’s eyes prompts him to keep his mouth shut and help searching. With better knowledge of the effects of the spell, they quickly narrow down their options until Sam taps his finger against a page and sighs, “this one.”

“You’re sure?” Dean asks, already setting aside his own book.

Sam nods. He runs a hand through his hair and when it comes away with small clumps between his fingers, Dean’s worried the kid is going to start crying.

“Let me see,” Dean says, turning the book so he can read the spell Sam indicates. “This says it’s temporary. That’s good. It’ll wear off once the hair is gone and then the hair can grow back.”

“That’s good,” Sam whispers, sounding much smaller and more broken than Dean’s heard him in a very long time. He hates seeing Sam like this.

“Hey,” he says, reaching over to take Sam’s hand. “Look, this says that less experienced witches mix this spell up with another more deadly one a lot. That explains why she used it. She could’ve killed you, Sammy.”

Sam nods, still looking so damn helpless that Dean just wants to bundle him away from anything that could ever hurt him.

Dean rounds the table and crouches so he’s at a better level. He takes Sam’s face in his hands. “Talk to me.”

Sam shakes his head, frantically pulling away. Before Dean can say anything else, Sam shoots to his feet and vanishes down the hall. Dean sighs, resting his elbows on the seat of the chair his brother just vacated. Maybe Sam needs a little space? Clearly, this curse is more than just a minor inconvenience in his eyes, though, and Dean wants to know why so he can help.

He leaves Sam alone for about thirty minutes, taking the time to search for any way to reverse the curse. When he can’t find one, he has to fight the urge to throw the book across the room. Instead, empty-handed, he goes in search of his brother.

Dean doesn’t have to look long. He hears Sam before he sees him, quiet sobs barely audible through the closed bathroom door. He hesitates, hand on the knob as he debates whether or not to just leave Sam alone, but he can’t. The most important person in his life is hurting. Dean needs to do  _something_.

The door is unlocked, surprisingly. Dean carefully pushes it open. It takes a second to see Sam because he’s practically behind the door, long legs tucked up tight against his chest. Dean’s hair clippers are a few feet away, like they were kicked and slid. When Dean appears, Sam hastily wipes his eyes and starts to stand.

“Hey, hey,” Dean says, already reaching for him. “You don’t have to get up.”

Sam looks almost grateful as he sinks back down. Dean sits beside him, staying a few inches away. He scoots closer when Sam leans toward him, pressing his bare arm against Dean’s clothed one.

“I figured it would be easier to just shave it all off,” Sam says after a long moment of silence. “It’ll grow back sooner. But I… I just couldn’t.”

Dean’s heart clenches. “What if I did it for you?” he suggests, treading carefully. He may not understand why, but this is a big deal for Sam and he has a feeling his usual jokes and playfulness won’t go over well. “Or I could hold your hand while you do it? Or just guide the clippers for you?”

Sam looks all of ten, teary puppy eyes blinking up at Dean from beneath his lashes. “You would do that?” When the words are out, Sam’s face twists in pain at the thought of having to do this, even with Dean’s help.

Dean reaches over to take Sam’s hand. “Whatever you need,” he promises.

Silence falls once again, broken only by Sam’s quiet sniffles. Then, he wipes his eyes and reaches out to grab the cord of the clippers, pulling them within reach. Sam turns them over in his hands. Dean waits.

“Do it,” Sam whispers, turning to press the clippers into Dean’s palm. “Please.”

“You’re sure?” Dean’s willing to do this, but with how distressed Sam is, he needs Sam to be positive.

Sam nods, already getting up. He grabs the folding shower chair he bought months ago that Dean will never admit he loves- Sam says it’s for when they’re really tired or hurt after a case, but Dean’s mantra about shower sex being complicated has changed- and sets it in front of a sink. Dean plugs in the clippers and watches as Sam gets comfortable.

“Can I… can I help with the first one?” Sam asks when Dean turns the clippers on.

Dean drops a kiss to the top of his head. “Of course.”

It’s a little awkward, their combined hands around the tool, but they make it work. Before the clippers touch him, Sam jerks away, shooting up from the chair with a ragged huff. Dean waits it out and watches as Sam paces, then leans over the sink to stare into the mirror. One more run of his hand through the long locks have him wincing and shutting his eyes. Sam’s ass hits the chair hard and the hair falls from his fingertips as he finds Dean’s hand and brings the clippers back to his head. Almost as if he’ll chicken out if he doesn’t do this  _right the fuck now_ , Sam’s hand forces Dean’s along with his, and the first long strip of hair goes fast- straight up the center of his head. There’s no turning back now. Sam’s hand falls away and he lets out a choked sound. Dean’s heart aches at the look on Sam’s face, but Sam shakes his head and whispers “just do it” so Dean continues.

It takes a while, but eventually all Sam is left with is patchy stubble. He looks a little shocked, to be honest, and they’re not even done yet. Dean sets the clippers aside.

“We gotta move this to the shower,” he says gently, brushing hair from Sam’s shoulders. “Come on, out of these.”

He gets Sam upright and out of his pajama pants before stripping himself down. The shower warms up quickly and soon he’s sitting Sam on the chair under the spray. A razor, some shaving cream, and a splash of cold water to close the pores, and Sam is officially bald. It’s weird, definitely. Despite all his teasing, Dean loves Sam’s hair and seeing him without it feels all sorts of wrong.

“All done,” he murmurs, running his palm over Sam’s head and pressing a kiss to the bare skin.

Sam sniffs and Dean can feel the tears coming on. He pulls Sam to his feet and into his arms. Sam goes easily, tucking his face into Dean’s neck, and sobs. Dean just holds him and makes soothing noises- it’s all he really can do- until Sam’s cried himself out.

“‘M sorry,” Sam mutters, trying to pull away.

“Don’t apologize,” Dean says. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Just talk to me.” He cradles Sam’s cheek in one hand, guiding broken hazel eyes to meet his. “Help me understand.”

* * *

So Sam talks, until they’re too pruny to stay in the shower anymore. He tells Dena everything- from the demon blood to Meg to Lucifer to Gadreel. His body isn’t his unless he can control it, so he controls it. He works out and runs and eats healthy food. He uses nice shampoos and keeps his hair long because he likes it, not because it’s practical (it isn’t practical), and now….

“Fuck,” Dean murmurs, gently rubbing Sam dry with one of their softer towels. “I never thought… I’m so sorry, Sam. I should’ve realized.” He sets the towel aside and pulls Sam into a hug. “I’m so stupid. All this time I’ve been mocking you for this shit when it’s what you need to feel like yourself- to know you’re in control of your own damn body. Fuck, Sam, I can’t… how can I fix this?” His hands cradle Sam’s head and he looks so desperate. “Tell me what to do. I need to make this better.”

Sam shakes his head, bumping their noses together as he does. “Right now, just you being here is enough.”

* * *

The next day Sam wakes up with a barely-there layer of stubble, solid all the way around unlike the patchiness from before.

“You know, it’s not a bad look,” Dean says softly, leaning against the bedroom wall. “I know you miss the way it was before. Maybe we can find something to make it grow faster?”

Sam shrugs, running his hands over it his head and staring at the stranger in the mirror. “Maybe,” he whispers.

Dean moves to stand behind him, wrapping strong arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. “Whatever you want, Sam. It’s up to you.”


End file.
